Broken
by Sea Biscuit x
Summary: J.O.N.A.S. What happens when Joe finds Nick damaged beyond repair in a forest? Minor Joick. Kind of gory. Lame summary, I know.


_**Author's Note:**  
This is one of the more gruesome things I've written. Ye be warned. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it – please don't waste your time flaming on how gross it is or something. Feel free to flame on anything else, I'd be happy to accept your constructive criticism!_

I glanced at my watch, creeping through the silent forest. It was nearly noon, the sun at its highest point. The awful heat, combined with my extreme anxiety, made sweat run down my neck and back. Light streaked in between the thin needles of the pine trees, creating elaborate shadows on the damp ground.

For the third time in less than five minutes, I picked up my walkie-talkie and held down the 'talk' button. "Nick, this is Joe. State your location." And like the two times before, I received no response. A lump of worry began to crawl up my throat.

Eight hours earlier, Nick had been sent by the agency to recover some stolen files from some obscure agency hiding out in this very forest. This kind of stuff was Nick's specialty – he'd retrieved more than two hundred documents over the past year, his worst wound being a mere bullet in the shoulder that was easily taken care of. So it was unusual that he took so long. A simple task like this would take him an hour, maybe two, at most. I was the first to volunteer when a request for a searcher was issued.

A small noise, barely audible, made me freeze. It sounded like something was dripping – but there were no bodies of water nearby, nor had it rained recently. Quietly, I approached the sound, resting my hand on the gun on his belt. My body tensed, prepared for an enemy attack. I silently ducked behind a bush, listening intently for the dripping sound. The faint noise became louder and more resonant with each step closer I took. Finally, when I could bear the suspense no longer, I carefully, carefully peeked around the bush, ready to defend myself. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that beheld him.

"Nick!" I breathed in relief, recognizing my little brother's curly locks. But there was something terribly, terribly wrong.

"Nick?" I asked, cautiously taking a step. My stomach churned as I realized the state he was in.

He was lying facedown in a crumpled heap on the floor, his hands tied roughly behind his back. Lines of wet, shining blood dripped from where the heavy rope had dug mercilessly into his tender wrists. He was wearing only his boxer shorts, deep, gaping wounds all over his thin frame. The areas of his body that weren't cut open were bruised, transforming his once-fair skin into a disgusting blend of purples, blacks, and yellows. I rushed forward, fumbling with the blood-stained gag from around his mouth.

"Nick!" I cried, tossing the gag aside and tearing my walkie talkie off my belt and speaking into it rapidly. "J. Jonas reporting. Location coordinates X24, Y79. Send medical assistance immediately!" I turned back to Nick. "Nick, are you alright? Can you hear me?"

"Joe?" his cracked voice was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

"Nickie!" I flung my arms around him, relief flooding my body.

"Joe… it's so dark… is it late?"

I froze. Sunlight flooded the clearing; I couldn't understand what he was saying.

"Joe?"

I pulled him upright, and my eyes widened in silent horror. Splinters of decaying wood had been shoved roughly into his emotionless eyes, bloody tears streaking his face.

"Yeah. It's really, really late," I choked out, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "Don't worry about it."

I couldn't even imagine the pain he had gone through. It made me feel sick to my stomach to think of the torture his captors must have inflicted upon him – the beatings, the cuttings, and now this. I swallowed hard, wrapping my arms around his broken body and holding him close to me. He was drawing sharp, labored, ragged breaths, using up whatever strength he had left just to breathe.

"I want… to… to go home," he whispered with difficulty.

"I know," I murmured. "Don't worry, Nickie, you're fine, you're going to be just fine."

"Joe, I failed."

"What?"

"The mission, Joe, I failed the mission." his voice was like honey – slow and thick, but so, so sweet. I felt a tear roll down his cheek and drip onto my chest – salt water mixed with blood.

"Oh, Nickie," I sighed, stroking his hair, "It's okay. It's okay."

"I'm… cold, Joe… so cold…" he whimpered, and only then did I realize that his small body was shaking uncontrollably in my arms.

"Oh my God," I breathed. He had lost too much blood. Kicking myself for being so stupid and not acting faster, I lay him down gently and ripped a swatch off my shirt, pressing it against an open wound on his chest, trying to stem the blood flow. My shirt was stained crimson from holding him, but I didn't care.

"Oh shit – hang in there, Nick! You're gonna be okay!" I said, trying to be reassuring, but panic was evident was in my voice. Why the hell was taking the medical team so fucking long?

"I'm… sleepy…" he mumbled, his words barely coherent now.

"Come on, Nick," I urged, terrified of what this 'sleep' was, "You can't fall asleep now! Come on, just a little bit longer!"

"I'll…try…"

I pressed harder against the wound, praying for the flow to stop or at least slow.

"Do you feel any pain?" I asked, using my free hand to open the pouch of emergency painkillers I always kept with me.

"No… I don't feel anything."

"Fuck," I mouthed. It was nearly the end.

"I love you, Joe," he whispered, his lips moving in slow motion.

And then he stopped breathing.

"NICK!" I screamed, frantically placing my hands on each other atop his chest, pushing down firmly in an attempt to revive him. I tried a few more times, and when nothing happened, I descended upon his cold lips, breathing into him, hoping, praying, for his chest to start moving again. Where the hell was med team?

After what seemed like hours of my futile actions, I finally collapsed onto his body, letting out a terrible howl of anguish. Nick Jonas – my little brother, Nick – was gone. Nick, talented, smart, adorable Nick, was never coming back.

I buried my face into his chest and sobbed uncontrollably, each cry coming out as short, raspy chokes. I cried and cried and cried, the tears never relenting.

When finally, finally, the tears stopped coming, my breathing slowly returned to normal. The wells of salt water had dried, leaving me hollow and empty.

I wrapped my arms around his cold, cold body.

"I love you, Nick," I whispered into his ear, rocking back and forth slowly, "So, so, much."

_**Author's Note:  
**Hooray for Joick!  
Hope you at least mildly liked it, though it was extremely short.  
This is meant to be a one-shot, but I may continue it some other time.  
Thank you!_


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